A Heir in Sheep's Clothing
by SailorToni
Summary: A new teenager comes to Amity Park claiming to be the son of Vlad Masters, but in reality he is using the old man to earn himself a life of luxury, and has no relation to Mr. Masters. And this kid is willing to do anything, including going to the media to get what he wants.


Vlad Masters. Billionaire, business guru, and number seven on Forbes list of top ten hottest rich bachelors. He rose the ranks of a small Wisconsin cheese company and became CEO at the age of twenty-four. He has made several generous donations to a few hospitals, a few medical charities, and to one school in Amity Park. He keeps his head low and gains more money by the hour than most do in a month. A perfect hit for what Darien has planed.

Grabbing his tool kit, a few items of clothing and his notebook. Darien, blue eyes, grey hair, and a head taller than the Masters himself. Threw the laptop in the microwave. Cranked it up to eleven, and ran from his foster parents trailer.

Three weeks later he was on the Local Amity Park station. A small rip in his hoodie, exposed a large stain. A bruise on his cheek accompanied his tired eyes, and a downhearted look graced his oh so sad face. These blue puppy eyes looking longing into the large expensive camera.

"When did you figure out he was your father?" The reporter asked.

"When I saw him on TV. I have vague memories of my poor mother talking about how Dad was gonna come home any day," he paused, a look of pain and sorrow twisted his face. "He looks just like the man my mother described, and I know deep down that he's my father. Like how a mother knows who her son is. It's a gut feeling Mrs."

"Have you contacted your father?"

"I have."

"And what did he say?"

"He… he did not believe me. Which I guess I could understand. I'm just some kid on the street. I'm sure he has like, a hundred or so of those claiming to be his son. I'm no different I guess. But I'm not just some random kid. Mr Masters, Dad. If you're watching this, I will take whatever test you want, I'll…I'll go in front of a judge and tell him, I'll walk on water if you want.. I just want to be a family with you sir. Is that so much to ask for?"

The reporter put a hand on his shoulder, signing off to the camera. An intern ran up to give him a box of tissues, a camera man gave him a big leather jacket. The joints of the jacket were faded and the but well loved, and the reported offered to buy him lunch. Remorseful faces gave him what he needed and much more. More than he deserved, but not unwanted. An eye drop container sat in his new coat pocket, sung against the leather, as Vlad Master bore holes into his own fine leather chair. Eyes glazed over in anger at the wolf born child.

Darien cease to mind this. His tears were long gone by the time he left the hotel shower. Thick clouds of steamed followed him into the lavish yellow room. Golden stripes ramped up and down the walls. Moving within his eyes site as he bounced upon the soft bed. A woman saw him on the news and paid for him to rest. How kind, how sweet. His bruise was gone now, but would soon make its reappearance from with in his stolen makeup kit. Just like the sad poor boy, who had walked from West Virginia to Wisconsin to find his father after the slow and painful death of his mother had left him, without a family. Cancer takes the good ones so soon.

Gagging from his own thoughts Darien laughed and howled at the act.

"Sheesh in this town they'll buy anything."

Resting on the bed, its golden cushions would soon be on his own bed, in his mansion, with his father? Dad? Papa? What would he call him? It didn't matter. From the hotel's computer his story had gone viral, and that's what matters. You can't say no to an angry hate mob. He thought to himself. The dimming lights of the room lulling him to a shallow sleep.

"Get up!" Darien rocked up from his bed. The golden room, now a deep shade of pink. The bouncing stripes that lined the walls, were now caving around him and the figure. pale blue skin, blood red eyes, and white blazing fangs, like it was from a scary children's book. Every detail created to terrify a small child, down to the white cape and spiked vampire like hair. But this was not a spook created from tired writers profiting off a child's nightmares. The figure hovered above the bed, the small cracks of dirt speckled across his boots, as Darien watched his chest rise and fall like normal men. But his eyes, pupil less and swirling with hatred, drilled into his mask.

"You think it's fun to deceive and lie on the news. Manipulating those morons into your little con." The figure spoke.

"This isn't a con! I just want to see my father- and who are you? Why are you here?" The figure replied with a long hearty, almost fleshy laugh.

"Darien, son of none, you must take me for a fool."

The kid was taken aback. He knew this town had ghost. He knew. He saw the news and in this age a lot of things can happen, but. The ghost continued, his voice coasting through his thoughts.

"Vlad Masters has no children. A sad state of affairs indeed, but greatness is not always recognized."

"And you can see it?" Darien said.

"Of course. I am an old ghost. Traveling from times far beyond your own. I have seen this con before and I'll see it again. But I have an interest in the Masters and I don't wish for you to…interfere with my plans."

"Plans? What plans?" Darien asked. Thoughts swirling in his mind like a toxic cauldron overflowing, its thick mucus burning questions into the floor.

"Nothing you need to worry about. Now Take this warning as your final one. If I must make myself known to you again, it will be the last breath you will take."

"Your pretty blatant with your plans. Heh, you think that you would be a tad more selective about it."

"Why?"

"What?"  
"What need do I have to keep my intentions hidden. Unlike yourself my intentions don't betray my cause. I am a ghost? What would someone do? Kill me twice?" He laughed, again.

"Well I mean what about Ghost hunters- or"  
"Ghost hunters! Don't make me laugh! Seriously, don't. Children have a nasty habit of wearing my patience quite thin."

Darien gulped. The figure's hands matched his eye in intensity. The pink glow spiking bright like a heartbeat.

"I. I won't give up! You think some gay looking Dracula is gonna scare me! I can defend myself," Darien was trembling again. "And I won't let someone like you take this away from me. I deserve -"

"You deserve nothing."

The world was pink, then white, and now sunlight. Its soft warming rays opened the hotel's curtains singing him to rise. The room's yellow walls felt worlds apart from his body. The ghost of nails tethering around each of his goosebumps, as his eyes scanned the room. Nothing was unusual, nor upset. It was just him in a bright cheerful room.

It must have been a dream. He thought to himself. In the bathroom, Darien saw it. While not paranormal, it was abnormal. There was a bruise on his cheek.


End file.
